Nick
by MelancholyHappiness
Summary: Bakura has the tendency to cut himself. And others, when given the chance. Thiefshipping, bloodplay, yaoi. lemon. no language, i think.
1. Nick

**This is a story I came up with after reading ALL of BakuBakuRemix. I can't do the angst very well, so this has some fluff. Well, its not _fluff_, but its not dark either. Bloodplay, though. Enjoy!**

Bakura had always liked things that were sharp. The threat of damage was exhilarating; the act was orgasmic. Nevertheless, it was imperative Marik did not know.

There was no way the Egyptian would put up with him if he found _another_ flaw in Bakura's mind. Or on his body.

There were little scratches littering the inside of Bakura's left arm that Marik had never seen. Bakura attempted to keep it that way.

Unfortunately, he failed.

"What is that?" asked Marik, his voice very distant to Bakura's ears. The white-haired spirit pulled his arm behind his back, sticking the bloody knife into the floor behind his chair. "What is what?" he responded cheekily, his eyes slightly glazed. Marik was not in the mood for playing, and pulled Bakura's arm until it was level with his eyes.

Four crimson lines ran down the pale skin already covered with scars, dripping off the smooth skin onto the wooden floor. Bakura shifted a little at the movement, feather-light touches sending shivers down his spine. Marik's eyes widened, shock rippling through him. "Bakura did you… did you?" he tried to ask. Bakura didn't move, still watching the drops splash to the floor.

"I don't… why?" said Marik slowly, bringing the damaged arm closer. Bakura snatched it away, pulling up the knife and brandishing it at Marik. The Egyptian flinched, taking a step back, and looked as if he was about to speak. Bakura cut him off. "Look, it's not that big of a deal, okay? Just… pretend you never saw this." Marik nodded, turning on his heel and walking out of the room. Just as the door closed, Bakura realized his error, but it was too late. Marik had obviously been scared off for good.

Bakura sighed, wiping up the blood with the blunt side of the knife, and then licking it off. He cut his tongue a little, holding back his moan anxiously.

A door slammed above him.

Hmm…

He was on the second floor.

Bakura stood up, holding up the knife in a way he felt was threatening. Up the stairs and to the room he estimated would have been directly above him. The door didn't seem to be locked, so Bakura touched the knob hesitantly and turned it with three fingers.

"It's alright," whispered Marik, watching Bakura walk in, his knuckles white from his grip on the weapon.

"Why are you still here?" asked Bakura, not angrily. Curiously. "I figured it was just another one of your… quirks," he murmured, bringing Bakura to the bed he was sitting on. Bakura frowned; he didn't consider theft, vandalism, and death threats quirks. But, anything to keep Marik in his bed.

"So," continued the blonde, pushing Bakura so he was lying on the bed and straddling him. "I want to see what it's like. With you." Bakura looked at Marik for a long time, his mouth turning up in a sultry smirk. He brought the knife up to Marik's face, waiting for any sign of hesitance, and dragged the tip down his cheek. Blood welled, dripping like tears to Bakura's shirt. Marik closed his eyes, able to savor the warmth as Bakura did, and leaned in slowly. Bakura pushed him off, leaving the room hurriedly.

Marik wasn't embarrassed or regretful, just a little sad Bakura didn't want to share this with him. He wiped the blood away with his hand, wincing as it stung, and watched it dry.

Bakura walked in again, a fire in his eyes like Marik had never seen. In his left hand was the knife from before, now covered in dried blood. In his right was a smaller pocketknife, and it looked like it had never been used.

"Undress," ordered Bakura, not in a mood for playing either. Marik obeyed, stripping and sitting on the edge of the bed expectantly. Bakura motioned him to lie down in the middle, and then he spread the Egyptian's legs. He accidentally nicked Marik's hip and paused to lick over it. Marik shivered, his breathing quickening. Bakura set the original knife down on the bottom of the bed, turning the pocketknife toward Marik and coming closer.

Marik trembled, more aroused than he had ever been. Bakura was lightly dragging the sharp edge on the inside of Marik's thighs, blood flowing in a way that worried the blonde. It had been painful at first, but after the first couple of cuts, Marik grew more excited. So excited, in fact, that after a few minutes, he came all over his stomach. It shocked the hell out of both of them, making Bakura cut Marik a lot deeper than he intended. He pulled the knife away, sticking it into the floor and moving up to Marik's face to calm him down.

He was almost sobbing, wracked with pleasure and pain, but there was something else. Something he was saying.

"Bakura I- it feels so- I want more, please!" Well, the stabbing hadn't fazed him, mused Bakura, having to use effort to pull the knife up. He put the butt of the knife into Marik's mouth, kissing his bloodied legs, and held his hips still. After a moment, he pulled the cold steel away and shoved the slick end into Marik's entrance. The Egyptian cried out, moaning his pleads loudly. Bakura nodded absently, pushing Marik's knees up and pulling the knife out. He undid his jeans, pulling them off and throwing them to the floor.

_Let's see just how masochistic he's become_, thought the spirit, grinning wildly.

He thrust in without warning, preparation minimal and no added lubrication. Marik couldn't handle it, pulling away and scrambling off the bed. Bakura, too high in pleasure to control his actions, followed him, shoving him to the wall and leaving bloody streaks as he lifted his legs. Marik, almost hysterical, followed the knife with his eyes as it cut across his shoulders and down to his collarbone. The hollow was almost too tempting, Bakura restraining himself from plunging the knife in and just reentering his lover.

Marik screamed, habitually wrapping his legs around Bakura's waist, but the lacerations on his legsreopened and bled fresh, even more so the stab wound. Bakura no longer cared, slamming into Marik for his own completion. He held Marik's hands above his head with one hand, the one holding the knife bracing him on the wall. At first, it was slightly enjoyable for Marik, but then Bakura neared completion and started to thrust too deep. His unprepared channel bled more than his legs, thankfully lubricating him, but pain was prevalent.

Marik was slipping in and out of consciousness by the time Bakura finished, his head swimming and the room seeming to spin around them. Bakura almost dropped him in dismissal before he regained composure and saw the abuse he put the blonde through. Pink was dripping out of his entrance and down his legs, his shoulders ringed with crimson like a necklace. Bakura just looked for a while, setting Marik on his feet but still holding him by his wrists.

"Marik?" asked the sprit, leaning to him. Marik's eyes fluttered but he didn't respond. Bakura sighed and laid him carefully on the bed. Blood was everywhere; on Bakura's clothes, on the wall, on the bed, on the floor, all over Marik. The reeked of copper, like a thousand melting pennies, to the point where Marik was nauseous. Bakura carried him to the shower, standing him up in the warm water, undressing, and getting in with him. Being cleaned in comfortable temperatures (rather than cut in the frozen wasteland that was Bakura's room) woke Marik up a little, watching the faded red run down the drain as Bakura ran his hands over every part of Marik's body.

"Bakura, I love you," stated Marik, not expecting a definite answer. "Mmm," hummed Bakura. He never did say it, but both of them knew. Bakura, satisfied with his job, looked up into Marik's eyes from kneeling in front of his lover. Realizing his selfish taking, Bakura continued to stare into Marik's eyes, holding him still by his hips and stroking his flaccid cock simultaneously. Marik was almost immediately aroused, the blood flowing to his erection lessening the pain of his wounds. Bakura's hair looked longer, straight under the water. He could have passed for a girl, if not for the devilishly handsome look in his eyes.

Bakura wanted foreplay, but Marik held the beck of his head and pushed him forward until his mouth was millimetres from the leaking head of Marik's member. Bakura smirked, having to close his eyes from all the water running down his face, and took Marik into his mouth.

The Egyptian almost fell, hard, but Bakura was still keeping him upright. Guiding Bakura (little patience at this point) to bring him off, Marik panted and moaned out his lover's name. Bakura was aroused as well, but didn't have the will to do anything about it, after what he had done to Marik. When the blonde finally did come, Bakura helped him with the aftershock before sitting him down. Every trace of completion washed down the drain; Bakura turned off the water and reached for a box of band-aids.

"I feel like such a pussy," whimpered Marik, having cried the whole process of Bakura fixing him up (some of the cuts had started to bleed again). "You never need band aids!" Bakura chuckled, his arms around Marik (whining from on his chest), and kissed his lover on the top of his head. "Maybe I'm just used to it." Marik sighed, his warm breath ghosting over Bakura's shoulder. "Well, we're going to have to practice until I get it right."

The white-haired spirit grinned. "Practice, we will."


	2. Scratch

**Believe it or not, I was listening to Dramatic by Yuki while writing this :D it's my new inspiration music. Very happy, I think.**

Bakura no longer kept his knives hidden. They were everywhere: strewn across tables, piled in drawers, anywhere they wouldn't be in danger of being stepped on. The only danger was Bakura picking one up and chasing Marik playfully around the room, catching him and pinning him to the floor.

Marik felt closer to Bakura than he ever had, and not just because of their mingled blood. Having his life in his lover's hands was an overwhelming experience that neither of them could get enough of.

There had been a chase recently, leading Bakura upstairs and into their room. Clothes were swiftly removed, and Bakura smiled over his prey.

"Gods, Bakura, please!" shouted Marik, grabbing Bakura's wrist with both hands and attempting to pull the blade closer. The white-haired spirit was far stronger than him, however, and continued down at his own pace. The insides of Marik's thighs were saved for special occasions; the first scars had already healed and his bronze skin was flawless. Bakura was focusing on his chest, having outlined three of his ribs with blood. He was going to stop and take the Egyptian, but Marik wasn't done with the sadistic foreplay.

"Marik, no more. You can't overdo it; you'll lose too much blood." Marik shook his head, the action making him dizzy. He coughed a few times and slumped back to the pillows, his body reacting to the cold and lack of proper blood levels. "I'm fine Bakura. Keep going, please!" But his lover was having none of it, pulling swiftly away from the bed. Marik sat up, delirious, and tried to get out as well, but Bakura pushed him down and kissed along his wounds.

There was a silence where no one was breathing. Bakura was going to move away, but Marik wrapped his arms around him and held him down. Bakura laughed, pulling back just enough to lie next to Marik and pull him closer still. "I don't think you're ready for anymore just now, Marik. Give it a minute." The Egyptian sighed, closing his eyes and trying not to focus on the slight stinging of the cuts. Bakura closed his eyes as well, breathing in Marik's warm smell.

* * *

Bakura woke up slowly, his body colder than when Marik was next to him, but still comfortably warm. He sighed, his eyes still closed. Marik must have found the thermostat and turned it up. It was a usually a little cold (~15˚C!) , but Bakura had gotten used to it.

"Marik!" he called, opening his eyes and trying to stretch his arms out above his head. They were already there. He tried to bring his arms to his sides, but found they couldn't come down.

"Marik?" he called again, a little anxious. His lover walked into the room, a switchblade in his hand. "Bakura, you're awake! I figured enough time went by for us to continue. I kind of started without you, though…." He lifted his arm, rivulets of blood falling to the floor.

"Yes, yes, that's all well and good, but can you let me go?" Marik laughed contemptuously, climbing onto the bed and straddling Bakura. "It's just a little more fun for us. Bondage is no worse than what we do." Bakura felt a warmth in his chest, the way Marik said 'what we do'. It was special. Marik smiled, tilting his head and closing his eyes adorably. He would look like a kid, if he wasn't naked, covered in fading scars, bruises, and dried blood, and holding a knife. Bakura chuckled, bucking up to Marik brazenly.

"Mmmph… you think you're still in control," panted Marik, giving in to both of their needs. He scratched Bakura inadvertently with the very tip of the blade, smirking when blood welled and Bakura moaned.

"So let's skip the touching, ne? That pussy foreplay is only good once. We've already had enough from before. I think we should just get down to business." Bakura frowned, still trying to free his wrists from the top of the bed. "Where shall we begin, Marik?" he asked, his eyes smoldering with lust. Marik laughed, leaning forward onto Bakura's chest and kissing the underside of his jaw. His hot tongue was next, followed by the cool edge of the knife and the warmth of Bakura's blood. Marik laved at that too, leaving dark hickies along Bakura's jaw line.

"Hmm… how about you watch me make myself come, and I'll give you what you want. Excluding," he said a little louder, Bakura having opened his mouth to interrupt. "Letting you free." Bakura nodded, trying to make it look resigned, but Marik could clearly read his anticipation. "You've never let me see that, Marik. Are you sure this is that good of a day?" Marik's eyes softened even as he got up and pulled a chair closer to the bed, shaking his head. "Every day with you is that good of a day, Bakura."

He hunted the bed and the floor for lubricant, finding some under the pillow under Bakura's head. The spirit arched up to kiss him and Marik accepted, their lips meeting gently. Bakura ran his tongue along Marik's bottom lip, urging him to open his mouth, but Marik pulled away. Bakura groaned, shifting anxiously. His arousal, untouched, was starting to be painful in its intensity.

Marik put one of his feet on the bed and the other on the floor, leaning back in the chair. Bakura watched him slather his fingers in lube, resting his free arm on his knee. Marik put in the first finger, closing his eyes in bliss. Bakura tried more frantically to get free; his erection yearned to be buried in that heat. Marik wasted no time in adding the second, searching for his prostate frantically. He used his other hand to stroke himself, but it was his left and all it did for him was make him aggravated. He pulled the fingers out, his entrance dripping with excess lube. Bakura moaned, so close without having been touched.

The Egyptian switched hands, lubricating three fingers on his left. Bakura watched the transfer with wide eyes, trying not to come when Marik thrust all three fingers inside himself, pumping his cock and moaning out the white-haired spirit's name. He made sure to hit his prostate every time, his eyes half-open and watching Bakura struggle. There was a low moan and Marik opened his eyes all the way, watching Bakura come. Marik came soon after, his fingers sliding out of his abused entrance and his hand relaxing off his erection.

"Ah… Marik… I've decided what I want," panted Bakura, drained but ready for more. "Bring the knife." Marik nodded weakly, picking up the blade and almost cutting the bonds holding his lover down, but he stopped himself and waited for Bakura to continue. "Our safe-word is… red. Okay?" Marik nodded again, knowing exactly what Bakura wanted him to do.

They had done this twice before, but it was Marik who came up with the safe-words. They would cut, shallowly, into the other until they had enough, then they would be taken. Marik rather enjoyed this game; he couldn't wait to play it again.

He started right below Bakura's shoulder, dragging the side of the knife and leaving a hairline trail of blood behind. Bakura bit his bottom lip, letting his arms go lax and bending his elbows slightly. "You okay?" asked Marik, cutting x's below Bakura's collarbone. The spirit looked like he was going to answer by the third little x, but he waited until the fifth and moaned a 'yes'. Marik smiled, lifting the knife and admiring his work. The blood pooled, hiding most of the cuts, and flowed down Bakura's chest to his stomach, which was covered in come. Marik tsked, grabbing a corner of the sheets and wiping everything away.

"Ow, Marik, stop," said Bakura when the sheet passed over the fresh cuts, but the masochist in both of them grinned. 'Stop' wasn't the safe-word. Marik straddled Bakura again, stretching over him and capturing his lips. Bakura sighed, bringing his knees up and arching his back so Marik pressed closer. Marik chuckled, stretching one of his arms over Bakura's and intertwining their fingers, the other sliding the knife over Bakura's side. The spirit hissed when Marik's hand jolted, catching him a little too hard.

"Bloody fucking red, Marik!" yelled Bakura, feeling the sticky wetness along his ribcage. Marik gasped, throwing the knife to the floor and staunching the blood with more sheets. "Bakura, you want to stop? I mean, should I… get something for that?" Bakura chuckled, tightening his fingers around Marik's and pulling him forward. "No… I want you to do something different."

Bakura turned his head and dropped back to the bed, shifting impatiently while waiting. Marik smiled, sitting up and impaling himself on Bakura's cock. "Mmmph," groaned the blonde, biting his lip. He held himself up with both hands on Bakura's chest, pushing down harder.

"Undo this shit," moaned Bakura, thrusting upward as much as he could. "The knife is on the floor, Bakura. I can't reach," whimpered Marik, Bakura's erection millimetres from his prostate. "Well get it!" he shouted, angry now. The Egyptian groaned, pulling off and getting up. He picked up the knife, hacking at the cord until it broke. Bakura didn't care that his wrists were numb; he grabbed Marik's arm and yanked him back to the bed. He thrust into his lover, holding him up this time and helping him slam down.

"Not… working," panted Marik, tired already. He had never ridden Bakura, and it was a lot more work than he thought it would be. The spirit pushed him off, turning him onto his stomach and pulling his hips up. Marik got a mouthful of pillow, almost suffocating, but Bakura plowed into him and his head shot back. Bakura held him on his hands and knees by wrapping his arms around Marik's waist and pressing his back to Bakura's blood stained chest.

"This better?" asked the spirit, smirking. Marik couldn't answer; at that moment, Bakura fisted his cock and stroked him to the rhythm of his thrusts. He turned his head, looking up at Bakura with tear-filled eyes and a single word on his lips. "More," he whispered, Bakura's already fast pace not enough for him. Bakura moaned, pulling out of Marik and turning him onto his back. The wound on Bakura's side bled fresh, splattering onto Marik's stomach, but Bakura didn't care. A little lightheadedness wasn't going to stop him.

He reentered Marik after a confirmation nod, startled when the Egyptian wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him closer. His thrusts were erratic now, too close to completion to concentrate on evenness. Marik didn't care; he was closer than Bakura and long, keening moans were spilling from his lips. He came hard, arching his back and tightening his hold on Bakura. All of his muscles contracted, the heat of his velvet channel closing down on Bakura's cock, and pulling him over as well. He filled Marik to the brim with come, panting over him for a good minute before pulling out.

Almost all of his come spilled out of Marik at the action, but he was prepared enough that it was still white. "I love you so much," sighed Marik, dropping kisses all over his lover's face and neck. "Mmm," hummed Bakura, his normal response to that profession. Marik laughed, petting Bakura's long white hair gently. Bakura got out of the bed, breaking Marik's hold on him, and nudged the blonde to stand as well. He pulled all the sheets off the bed, throwing them into a corner, then looking to Marik.

Even through his bronze skin, Bakura could see that Marik's cheeks were reddened from exertion and exhaustion. The Egyptian looked dead on his feet, as if he was going to faint at any moment. Shocking the hell out of him, Marik suddenly ran from the room. Bakura watched him leave and come back with one of their many first-aid kits. "I forgot how much you were bleeding, Bakura," said Marik, sitting down on the floor and inviting Bakura to sit next to him.

Having messed up more than once, Marik was very skilled in fixing himself and Bakura up. This gash was not as deep as it seemed to be, but definitely long. Marik had bandages over it in no time, after it had been disinfected and kissed better. Bakura wanted to chuckle at that, but didn't want to hinder Marik.

"All done," he said, taking a cloth and wiping the rest of the blood from himself and Bakura. "Thanks," said the spirit, standing up and falling onto the re-made bed. Marik followed him, crawling up his body to lie on his chest. "Do you think I've gotten good?" he asked, kissing one of the still-visible x's. "I believe you have. Though, you're still due for a little practice."

**I think I outdid myself with this one. I don't think it's really angst anymore, but there is no genre for bloodplay. It's definitely not horror, or… well, actually, it may be (physical)hurt/(sexual)comfort. Makes sense. Also, MariBaku coming up :D  
**


	3. Cut Scratch MariBaku

**I wasn't listening to Dramatic this time. I was listening to ChaosRocket. And Chain, by Back-On, but that's not the point (flails)! You can just skip to the next bolded line, if you've already read the last chapter.**

Bakura no longer kept his knives hidden. They were everywhere: strewn across tables, piled in drawers, anywhere they wouldn't be in danger of being stepped on. The only danger was Bakura picking one up and chasing Marik playfully around the room, catching him and pinning him to the floor.

Marik felt closer to Bakura than he ever had, and not just because of their mingled blood. Having his life in his lover's hands was an overwhelming experience that neither of them could get enough of.

There had been a chase recently, leading Bakura upstairs and into their room. Clothes were swiftly removed, and Bakura smiled over his prey.

"Gods, Bakura, please!" shouted Marik, grabbing Bakura's wrist with both hands and attempting to pull the blade closer. The white-haired spirit was far stronger than him, however, and continued down at his own pace. The insides of Marik's thighs were saved for special occasions; the first scars had already healed and his bronze skin was flawless. Bakura was focusing on his chest, having outlined three of his ribs with blood. He was going to stop and take the Egyptian, but Marik wasn't done with the sadistic foreplay.

"Marik, no more. You can't overdo it; you'll lose too much blood." Marik shook his head, the action making him dizzy. He coughed a few times and slumped back to the pillows, his body reacting to the cold and lack of proper blood levels. "I'm fine Bakura. Keep going, please!" However, his lover was having none of it, pulling swiftly away from the bed. Marik sat up, delirious, and tried to get out as well, but Bakura pushed him down and kissed along his wounds.

There was a silence where no one was breathing. Bakura was going to move away, but Marik wrapped his arms around him and held him down. Bakura laughed, pulling back just enough to lie next to Marik and pull him closer still. "I don't think you're ready for anymore just now, Marik. Give it a minute." The Egyptian sighed, closing his eyes and trying not to focus on the slight stinging of the cuts. Bakura closed his eyes as well, breathing in Marik's warm smell.

Bakura woke up slowly, his body colder than when Marik was next to him, but still comfortably warm. He sighed, his eyes still closed. Marik must have found the thermostat and turned it up. It was a usually a little cold (~15˚C!), but Bakura had gotten used to it.

"Marik!" he called, opening his eyes and trying to stretch his arms out above his head. They were already there. He tried to bring his arms to his sides, but found they couldn't come down.

"Marik?" he called again, a little anxious. His lover walked into the room, a switchblade in his hand. "Bakura, you're awake! I figured enough time went by for us to continue. I kind of started without you, though…." He lifted his arm, rivulets of blood falling to the floor.

"Yes, yes, that's all well and good, but can you let me go?" Marik laughed contemptuously, climbing onto the bed and straddling Bakura. "It's just a little more fun for us. Bondage is no worse than what we do." Bakura felt warmth in his chest, the way Marik said 'what we do'. It was special. Marik smiled, tilting his head and closing his eyes adorably. He would look like a kid, if he wasn't naked, covered in fading scars, bruises, and dried blood, and holding a knife. Bakura chuckled, bucking up to Marik brazenly.

"Mmmph… you think you're still in control," panted Marik, giving in to both of their needs. He scratched Bakura inadvertently with the very tip of the blade, smirking when blood welled and Bakura moaned.

"So let's skip the touching, ne? That pussy foreplay is only good once. We've already had enough from before. I think we should just get down to business." Bakura frowned, still trying to free his wrists from the top of the bed. "Where shall we begin, Marik?" he asked, his eyes smoldering with lust. Marik laughed, leaning forward onto Bakura's chest and kissing the underside of his jaw. His hot tongue was next, followed by the cool edge of the knife and the warmth of Bakura's blood. Marik laved at that too, leaving dark hickies along Bakura's jaw line.

**ALTERNATE ENDING! Get ready, because Marik is about to fuck Bakura into the mattress!**

Marik didn't have to go far for lubricant; he reached under the pillow and found a half-filled bottle. Distracting Bakura with his mouth, he clicked the top open and turned it up in his palm. Kissing down Bakura's chest, he circled his entrance carefully while still turning tricks with the blade. Lowering further, he drew the knife down Bakura's stomach and to the top of his thigh, etching uneven circles. The first finger entered without complaint from the spirit, too wound up to be bothered with relationship aesthetics. However, when the second finger forced its way in and the knife blade stopped, he stiffened.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, not unkindly for his words. "Preparing you. Unless you want it dry?" Bakura scoffed, shutting his legs on Marik's hand until he pulled away.

"I don't take, Marik. I give."

"You do, and it's very good," said the Egyptian absently, stabbing Bakura above his knee about half a centimetre in. The spirit hissed, pulling his leg away and allowing Marik to thrust his fingers back in. He slammed them into Bakura's prostate repeatedly, pressing the bloody tip of the knife deeper and deeper into his thigh. Bakura bit his bottom lip to hold in the scream, panting in an effort not to show his pain.

"You ready?" asked Marik, stopping the knife's slow decent. Bakura swallowed and nodded, afraid to open his mouth lest he cry out. Marik smiled at him, pulling the knife out and flipping Bakura over.

"Oh, no, no, no! I'll bottom _this once_, but there is _no way_ I'm taking it doggy-style!" Marik groaned; he was going to miss his only chance. Bakura got on his knees and elbows, turning carefully and locking eyes with his lover. "Take me like you need it, not like you want it." Marik grinned, forcing Bakura's legs open and thrusting in.

This time Bakura couldn't control the sound; a scream ripped from his throat before he could cover his mouth. Marik was in such a blissful plane that it was a tinny (yes, I meant tinny) moan to his ears, but to Bakura it was deafening. "Why does it hurt so much?" he whimpered, not one for showing weakness but unable to hold all of the pain in. Marik tried to comfort him, willing himself not to move until Bakura gave the go.

"It doesn't even hurt that bad," Marik ground out, running weak hands through Bakura's hair.

"Says the man who takes it every day." Bakura shifted anxiously, raising his knees and tugging at his bound wrists. Marik took that as the signal and worked a steady pace, leaning closer to catch the words Bakura was whispering in between ragged breaths.

"Marik… faster," breathed the spirit, hands fumbling in air. Marik grinned maliciously, grasping the blade next to him and poising it over his lover's tied hands. "Say please," he teased, letting Bakura feel the blade against his forearms. Bakura glared at him, arching his back and grinding down onto the other's cock. Marik moaned headily, one cut breaking through the bonds easily. Bakura laid his hands on Marik's shoulders, holding him still for a moment.

"I said faster," he panted, wrapping his arms behind Marik's neck and pulling himself upright. The new angle shocked them both into moans, but Marik was too uncomfortable to do anything. Bakura's move was supposed to be unbelievably sexy, and it _was_ slightly erotic. Nevertheless, Marik pushed him away and repositioned himself, one slam into Bakura's prostate sparking a new heat.

Bakura's head rested on Marik's shoulder, quiet sobs wracking his body and shaking his small frame terribly. His hair was a mess, tangled and intermingled with some of Marik's. The Egyptian had one hand entwined in Bakura's hair and the other, still holding the knife, was cutting deep lines into the small of his back.

"You close?" asked Marik, kissing Bakura's neck gently. The other didn't respond, but he did tighten his arms around Marik's neck and pull him ever closer. Bakura was the first to finish, throwing his head back in ecstasy and crying out Marik's name. Marik followed soon after, cliché-uke keening moans pouring out of his mouth. He and Bakura held each other in post-orgasm bliss for a while, the sticky warmth of come and blood binding them together.

They moved away from each other at the same time, Bakura falling to the bed and Marik lying next to him. "Are you ok?" asked Marik, knowing the pain of the 'first time'. Bakura murmured an affirmative, sighing heavily.

"Are you sure?" he demanded, looking to the spirit in alarm. Bakura sounded like he was crying, and he _never_ cried. Marik got up, kneeling over Bakura and checking him for serious injury. All of his little cuts were scabbing over, raised red edges on Bakura's pale skin not troubling. "Bakura, what's wrong?"

"I just… wow, Marik." The Egyptian smiled, a faint reddish blush darkening his bronze cheeks. "I'm that good?" he said, panic fading and being replaced with butterflies in his stomach.

"I don't think I've ever been that close to you," Bakura stated, wiping his tears on the back of his hand. Marik collected him into his arms, holding him like a child. "Well, Bakura, I'm very flattered," started Marik, stretching languidly for a moment before embracing the spirit again. "But I don't think I'll be on top any time in the near future."

"Why?" asked Bakura, hiccupping slightly.

"It's a lot of fucking work, man." Bakura nodded, laughing quietly. "You see what I go through for you, Marik?" he asked, kissing his lover contentedly.


End file.
